


Tension

by claro



Series: What we could have been [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Happy, Mention of Domestic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 22:16:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15650004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claro/pseuds/claro
Summary: This is for the wonderfulObviousoptionwho is an absolute gem and has been so so encouraging and supportive and I have adored their running commentary as they read/re-read my fics. They asked for a fic about 'before' and I thought it would be nice to contrast it with 'now' - I hope this meets with approval.With love, Cla xx





	Tension

The front door slammed and Sherlock tensed, casting his eyes wildly across the mess he had created in the kitchen and calculating if he had time to reach the sanctuary of his room before he was discovered.

'Sherlock?' a voice called, but it was another voice entirely that he was hearing, from another day.

The door banged open, footsteps, and then, 'Jesus Christ, what the fuck?'

A carrier bag thrown on the counter, a fist banging on the table, rattling the glass. Shouting. The words blurred into a roaring in Sherlock's ears and he froze until the doctor had left the room again.

Another day. An street in Belgravia. A case. Wrestled to the ground and punched so hard his cheek split.

Christmas Eve. Returning home to a silent flatmate and an air of disapproval. He'd been drinking. Was holding a book he wasn't reading. Had searched through Sherlock's things while he had been gone.

A restaurant, a pub, a club, a group dinner, a case...'he's not my date.' 'We're not a couple.'

Devon. A confession that the doctor was his only friend. He walked away from Sherlock. Turned his back on the most painful confession Sherlock had ever made.

Another weekend. Another woman. Loud. Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to drown it out.

Another restaurant. A cafe. A takeaway. Punch after punch. Never letting Sherlock explain. Never giving him a chance to tell the truth.

Shouting over experiments, cases, clothes or lack of. 

Telling his secrets.

A wedding. A confession. Sherlock left early. He didn't notice.

A month without so much as a text. He didn't notice that Sherlock had started using again. He didn't notice that Sherlock had gone missing.

A morgue. Punch after punch after kick. Sherlock on the ground, curled around himself against the relentless onslaught.

Baker Street, a hand too tight around his wrist, shoving him back against the wall.

Later those hands took his baby from his arms. The doctor didn't even look at him as he did it.

These memories flashed across his mind as Sherlock started to stand, ready to flee. And then...

'Jesus Christ, Sherlock!' footsteps and a bag set down on the counter. Sherlock fought to focus.

'That had better not stain because Mrs Hudson will lose her shit completely if you stain her table blue.'

Sherlock blinked at the tall man who had started unpacking the bag of shopping.

'They didn't have any almond milk left so Angus can either go without or shit himself, his choice. Oh, and I brought you something.'

At this Sherlock was able to focus on the man standing in the kitchen smiling at him, a tin in his hand.

'Beans?' he asked.

'Yeah,' the man bit back sarcastically, 'I brought you beans. Fuck sake!' he smiled broadly, 'There was a dead pigeon in the hospital car park so I brought it back for you.'

Two exchanges in the same room over an almost identical experiment, but with two different men. The first he had thought he'd loved. The second he was certain he did.

'So,' the man holding the beans said as he surveyed the kitchen table with it's numerous beakers, 'I'm gonna be really trusting and assume that this isn't toxic, but I'm gonna order takeaway just in case.'

As the man reached for the phone Sherlock took a breath and prepared to snap 'fine' to whatever was ordered. It had always been Asian of some description even when he desperately wanted-

'Pasta alla norma from Angelo's? I'll get him to send some of those little fried dough things you like and a shit load of green beans?'

Two things occurred to Sherlock, firstly, that he was being asked, rather than told and that the man in front of him was waiting patiently, phone still in hand, and secondly that it was exactly what Sherlock would have chosen for himself.

'Can you get some grilled polenta-'

'And artichoke hearts?' the man smiled, clearly amused. But the smile was soft and fond.

Sherlock listened to him place a frankly enormous food order, watched as he laughed and chatted with the person on the other end of the phone and then frowned when he caught his name.

'Yeah, Sherlock would like that.'

Sherlock waited until the man hung up before he spoke.

'What would Sherlock like?' he demanded in his most haughty tone.

'Angelo's got some of those balsamic slow cooked onions you like on.'

'Oh.' Sherlock had a sudden image of the dish and he could almost taste it. 

The man leaned closer so his lips were right by Sherlock's ear.

'His new dessert chef has been experimenting with the gelato and he has some raspberry and pistachio that he thought you would like.' there was the sound of a smile in the voice, light and teasing, 'But they didn't make enough to share it with the kids, so we'll just have to enjoy it after they go to bed.'

Sherlock turned to face the man and felt the smile on his own face. Before he could speak, soft lips pressed gently to his and then the man sighed.

'So, where do you want me to put this pigeon then?'


End file.
